Precious
by Morbid-Maggie
Summary: Hisoka has been taken prisoner by Muraki, and Tsuzuki is nowhere to be found. With Hisoka's time wearing thin in a house where he is trapped without his Shinigami powers, will he be able to hold on to the precious bond he has with his missing partner?
1. Ch 1: Night Run

Hello, I am Maggie. For those of you who are just starting this story, I can easily say you haven't missed anything. While I have been on Hiatus for probably about a year or more, I have finally found that I want to continue this story through to the end. However, I will be changing the content on the chapters that I already have up, simply because my writing has changed or just because I didn't like what I had written. This first chapter has already been updated, and will soon be followed by the others. But as soon as they are all changed, I will begin uploading new chapters. So hang tight until then and thank you for your patience.

**Precious**

**Chapter one: Night run**

Hisoka surveyed the scene in silence through startling emerald eyes, his gaze unwavering in the biting cold of the morning. The city was dark, the only source of light an occasional flickering street lamp. It was early; the sun would not rise for at least another four hours. He blinked slowly, deliberately, slightly shifting to the side so that he could peer around the corner of the alleyway wall he was leaning against. He could only see the empty street before him, mist swirling about the area like a soft blanket of silk. The fog had been there since sometime around midnight and had remained, constant, showing no signs of dispersing any time soon. He let out a small gush of air he had been holding in from apprehension, a light fog forming from his warm breath mingling with the cold air.

He cautiously moved around the corner, keeping his hands and body pressed firmly against the brick wall of the alleyway. He tried to remain as silent as possible as he made his way around, and he once more scanned the area to be absolutely certain he was alone for the time being. There was no telling where a sudden attack could come from within the darkness. All options were open and he didn't want to take any chances. He was usually cautious, precarious in every movement he made, but he needed to be exceptionally careful on this mission. The cold steel of the gun in his hand was smooth in his tightly clenched palm, but it held little comfort for him.

He didn't know where his partner, Tsuzuki, was, and this fact greatly unnerved him. The older Shinigami was supposed to meet up with him long over an hour ago, but there was still no sign of the man clad in black. Hisoka couldn't help but shake his head, at a loss of what else to do in such a situation. He wouldn't have been surprised if his partner had become distracted by some trivial thing, or if he had gotten lost. Tsuzuki could be such a pain...

Hisoka slunk away from the cover of the wall, slipping past to head down the sidewalk, but not directly on it. He paused at the next corner, like he had done with the last, glancing around to make sure that it all was clear. Not that he could really tell in the darkness and the fog. The cold was also hindering him, his thin jacket and jeans not enough to sustain him. Not even his rushing adrenaline could give him any type of warmth.

As he went to take his next step, the piercing crack of a gunshot rang out, and he reeled back just in time to avoid a spiraling bullet that embedded into the wall where his head had just been seconds before.

Spinning about on his heel, he turned to frantically see where the shot had been fired from. Once more, his green eyes perceived nothing, nor did his empathy he had been sending out. Ducking low and moving quickly, he went to take shelter in the closest alleyway, darting inside. Being shot would not mortally harm his body, but it certainly would be unpleasant and it would hinder him greatly, which he could not risk. His breathing came rapid and he swallowed hard, sliding down the wall until he was sitting with his back against it. _Damn..._ He cursed in his mind. _Where the hell is Tsuzuki?!_

Hisoka had been very eager to take the mission when it had been offered, as soon as he had learned its content. Tatsumi, however, had been hesitant to assign it to him and had suggested that he let Tsuzuki handle it alone. But of course Hisoka refused. Not when it was _that_ man who was involved as the prime suspect. Hisoka would not turn down any case involving _him. _Tatsumi didn't question Hisoka further, letting the boy make his decision, but it was easy to tell that it bothered the accountant greatly. And it did for good reason.

_Muraki._

The name was bitter in Hisoka's mouth. He would never forget what that horrible, cruel man had done. _Never_. Tatsumi was worried for Hisoka's well being and the boy knew that, but he had to take the mission. Even if that meant facing the very person that had haunted his nightmares for so long. Tsuzuki, to Hisoka's annoyance, had been hesitant of him accepting it as well.

"Maybe you should take a break, Hisoka," the older man had suggested. "I can handle this case."

Hisoka promptly declined his offer and no matter how much Tsuzuki tried to persuade him, he would not relinquish his choice.

"I'm doing this with you, Tsuzuki," He had said stubbornly. "I'm not a child, I can handle it." There was no room for debate in his decision. Tsuzuki soon had to give in and just let Hisoka come.

They planned together about the best strategy to use, and came to the decision that they would fan out and search, then meet up again after they had made one round through the third sector of the city, where all of the murders had occurred. But Hisoka had long past done so and Tsuzuki was still nowhere to be seen.

Hisoka closed his eyes, trying to even out the rhythm of his heart, which was pounding against his chest furiously, painfully. He willed himself to believe that it wasn't because he was frightened, that it was because adrenaline was coursing through him. He was not a child, as he had told Tsuzuki. He could handle himself well enough. But if that was so, then why couldn't he make himself budge from where he was currently hiding, between two garbage cans, sitting against an alley wall like a coward?

There was a clatter to his right and he jerked, jumping up and throwing out his empathy to try and focus on what had made the sound. A stray cat leapt from the garbage can it had just jumped upon and ran from the alleyway in a flash of gray fur. Hisoka sighed, smiling nervously in relief. It had only been a cat.

He suddenly cried out in alarm as a hand swiftly shot out through the darkness of the alley, clamping tightly around his throat and slamming him against the wall behind him. His gun fell loose from his hand and landed dejectedly on the ground with a dull thud.

"Well, well, well..." a cool voice mused. "What do we have here?"

Squirming, Hisoka had been expecting to hear Muraki's taunting voice, so he was surprised by the slightly younger tone that entered his ears. He opened his tightly closed eyes to get a better look at his attacker. The young man before him was tall, with a sturdy build and short, spiky red hair that reminded Hisoka very much or roaring flames. He had an X shaped scar that went across his left eye and down his cheek, and he smirked, looking at Hisoka through pale yellow irises. "It seems to me like I've caught a little spy," the man continued.

"Let go of me!" Hisoka hissed, clawing at the stranger's hand. His attacker simply laughed, a rather disturbing sound, and moved in, his unnatural yellow eyes flashing in the darkness, much like those of a cat's.

"So, what's something as sweet as you doing out on such a sour night, hm?" He inquired tauntingly, only a few inches away from Hisoka's face.

"None of your business!" Hisoka snapped back.

"Don't be like that, sweets. You'll hurt my feelings," the man crooned in a false injured tone.

"Shut the hell up and let go of me!"

Hisoka was beginning to feel nauseated, so his temper was escalating. He could sense the man's wretched amusement from his touch and it was crashing over him like a wave, threatening to make him throw up.

Instead of doing as Hisoka had demanded, his antagonist moved in even closer, pinning the boy against the wall so he was crushed against him. It was obvious that he knew the space of his proximity was a great annoyance to the boy.

Hisoka grimaced, his back digging into the bricks behind him and his empathy going off the deep end.

"Oh dear, is something the matter, kid?" the stranger before him inquired with a sneer.

"You-!" Hisoka started angrily, but he was cut short as a third voice entered onto the scene.

"Now, now, Veren. Don't tease the boy," a velvety voice lectured from the darkness.

Hisoka caught his breath, a startled realization sweeping over him and taking him into its cold clutches, freezing him to the core in a chill that dipped far below He knew that voice, for he had heard it so many times in his mind, echoing through his head and into his recurring nightmares.

Muraki stepped into view from the swirling depths of the fog, standing out against the black in his blindingly white suite. His usual twisted smile adorned his face and his one viewable eye shined, the other covered by his silvery hair.

The man, who Hisoka now knew was called Veren, turned his head to glance over his shoulder at the approaching doctor, and he stuck his lip out to resemble something that looked like the expression a child would make if told they couldn't have any more candy.

"Aww... But Muraki, he's just so tasty looking," he whined, an undertone of mockery created on Hisoka's benefit.

"Be that as it may, we don't have time for this," Muraki replied, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind his ear. "Also, I have reminded you many times not to use my name. It sounds grating when you say it."

"Then can we take him along?" Veren asked eagerly, referring to Hisoka and completely ignoring the Doctor's biting remark.

"Really, now. You think I would just let this boy leave when he is so easily in my clutches, Veren? Think, for once! Use your mind! We need him, regardless," the older man countered, looking at the silver watch on his wrist as if he were actually concerned about the time.

Hisoka guffawed, his emerald eyes wide and his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Fear was spiraling through him but was completely smothered by his unfiltered fury.

This was the man... The one that had hurt him so badly, who had torn his soul into pieces before he finally murdered him after many years of an aching sickness that fevered his bones. The man who he had become a Shinigami to take revenge upon.

No longer able to control his burning rage, Hisoka focused his energy into his hands, gripping Veren by the arms tightly and letting it all loose into the man's body. Veren shrieked, jumping back in pain, burns searing up the flesh of his arms, and Hisoka made a mad dash for Muraki, swinging his fist around so that it connected with the doctor's face. Caught momentarily of guard, Muraki stumbled backward from the blow, nearly toppling over, but he caught his footing on the alley floor and he frowned as his glasses fell to the ground and shattered.

"Son of a bitch!" Hisoka howled, making a mad attempt to hit him again, but Muraki caught his flying fist in a tight grip, twisting sideways so that the boy had to hunch to his right to keep his wrist from being snapped. He grimaced in pain, swinging his left arm back only to have that one gripped as well. To think that a human could hold him in place so easily was shameful. Then again, Muraki wasn't entirely mortal, either.

"Those glasses were expensive, boy..." Muraki stated, his annoyance evident as he stared Hisoka straight in the eyes. Hisoka struggled to wrench free, and the Doctor gave a curt nod to Veren who had come up behind and had apparently questioned something with body language. At Muraki's gesture, the man grinned, his lip piercing shining in the dim light, and then he swung his fist forward into Hisoka's gut with what felt like the force of an oncoming train. Hisoka took in a painful gasp of air, the world blurring before him as he fell to his knees, Muraki releasing his hold on him.

"My apologies, boy," Muraki was saying as he sank to the ground. "But I simply have no time to influence you into coming with me."

A single bead of sweat dripped from Hisoka's chin and onto the ground as he fell forward against the concrete, and in that second's time he was wondering, _...Where is Tsuzuki...?_ Then the image of Muraki's white shoes before him faded to a gray hue, and then to black...


	2. Ch 2: A small chat

Maggie, Here! This chapter, like the first, has successfully and completely been redone. Thank you and I hope it is a hundred times better than the original.

**Chapter Two: A short chat**

Hisoka groaned, the things around him gradually coming back into focus after he opened his bleary eyes and blinked a few times. It was dark, but his eyes quickly adjusted and he realized with a sickening churn to his stomach that his arms were tied behind his back. He tried to move them, but flinched as something bit into his skin. Barbed wire. He could tell by the cold steel and by the blood that came in small rivulets from where the barbs dug into his flesh. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the pain to ease to a dull throb before he got a better knowledge of his surroundings, craning his neck to look around.

The room he was in was completely made out of some form of stone, gray with a dark etch to it, and it looked very much like the kind of old dungeon one would see in Frankenstein. It was dank and humid, moss growing out of cracks in the ceiling and the walls from the excess gathered water, and there was not a window to be found. Across from him was a singular steel door with a large metallic handle and wrought iron hinges, which he already assumed to be locked.

His expression scrunched up into that of puzzlement. Had he passed out? He must have, he reckoned, for everything after the punch was a blank. But that couldn't have possibly been right. Hisoka could have taken a sword to the chest and it wouldn't have knocked him out with such efficiency. He guessed it had something to do with the fact that Veren had possessed immortal properties. The young man obviously wasn't human, if he was even young at all. What he was exactly, Hisoka did not know. He only knew that he did not like the guy and that he was seemingly serving Muraki. Serving the man who Hisoka was now in the clutches of.

He bit his lower lip, trying to keep a rational mind. He struggled to convince himself that he wasn't a thirteen-year-old human boy anymore, that he was now a Shinigami and the situation with Muraki would not be the same as before. He would find a way out of it. And if he couldn't, then Tsuzuki would surely find him in one way or another. Wouldn't he...?

He hadn't before. This fact nagged at the back of Hisoka's subconscious. _I'm sure he was just caught up_, Hisoka assured himself. _He would have come if he could. He still will come._ His thoughts couldn't help but seem very improbable, some of the gloom of the place sinking into his mind and poisoning the little comfort he had.

He was laying on his side, and he decided that he would try and get to his feet since he didn't plan to just lie there and do nothing. Hisoka struggled to position himself so that he could get to his knees, flinching with every movement as the barbed wire burrowed deeper into the flesh of his arms. Instead of even managing to sit up, he sprawled forward, landing hard on his stomach and chest. He grunted, spewing dust every which way that had gathered on the floor. He held still for a long moment, trying to regain himself and finding breathing difficult from his new position. He could feel warm blood dripping down his arms and over his fingers. It was sticky and uncomfortable, and he was sweating as well, his long sleeved black shirt suctioning onto him from the substance.

Hisoka jolted from his thoughts as well as physically when he heard a clicking noise on the other side of the door, and it squealed open on its rusty hinges. Unfortunately, he couldn't see whom it was that had entered. He stayed still in silence, listening to their shuffling footsteps getting closer and closer until they stopped only a foot from him. He was suddenly roughly kicked in the side and the impact was enough to roll him over onto his back to see Veren, a coy smile on the older boy's face.

"Hey, kid," He sneered. "It's about time you woke up! I needed something to play with."

Hisoka didn't like the tone of voice, or the wave of anticipation that was coming from the other man, and he grimaced, trying to scoot back by using only his legs, clenching his teeth from the agony that spiraled up his limbs from his bound arms dragging beneath him.

"Get away from me!" He managed to growl through his tightly shut jaw. Veren only laughed at this, stepping towards him with a meandering swagger, pulling up his loose, torn pants by his belt to keep them from falling.

He was the picture image of the delinquent child that no one liked or messed with in high school, with all his piercings, spiky hair, and torn baggy clothing. The kind of kid that cut almost every class to go smoke at the back of the school. He was skinny, but had supple muscles and a broad frame, his build somewhat reminding Hisoka of Tsuzuki. But of course, the two weren't even remotely alike other than that little detail.

"You're so mean, Hisoka!" Veren whined with a false tone like he had before with Muraki. "And after I even got to know you."

Hisoka scowled at the remark, as well as at the way Veren had said his name. "You don't know anything about me!" he hissed, his voice full of venom.

Veren raised an eyebrow as if to challenge the statement. "No? I know enough. I know how you died and why Muraki needs you for the time being. Do _you_ know why? I don't think so."

Veren's grin widened, although Hisoka would have thought it impossible to do so without ripping the corners of his mouth. Apparently, he was mistaken. The man went on. "That man, Tzuzuki… The good doctor can't seem to resist him." He moved in closer and crouched down so that he was leaning over the bound boy. "He's not bad looking, but I must say I prefer blondes." He stroked the side of Hisoka's face, twirling one of his wheat blonde locks between his fingers.

The young Shinigami jerked his head away, glaring up at Veren with threatening eyes. At least, as threatening as he could muster. It was hard to be intimidating when he had his arms tied behind him and was lying flat on his back. Veren seemed to think so as well, because his expression betrayed his amusement. His fingers went from Hisoka's hair to his lips, then he trailed them down to his collarbone. The boy twisted, rolling onto his side in angry protest growling, "Don't touch me!"

"You're so cold, is that any way to treat a person who gives you a compliment?" Veren asked, leaning further over Hisoka and taking his chin in his hand, forcing him to look at him.

"Does Muraki know you are here?" Hisoka inquired with a biting tone, his gaze unwavering as it met the eyes of the man above him. Veren's smug smile faltered to some extent.

"Well... no... But that doesn't matter."

"What happens if he finds out that you are here?" He pressed.

"You ask a lot of questions kid," Veren remarked, but Hisoka could tell he had touched a nerve from the annoyed undertone.

He pressed on. "Don't you have anything better to do than harass me? Surely Muraki doesn't let you laze around and do whatever you want."

Veren grinned lopsidedly, shrugging his shoulders in surrender to the comment. Hisoka stared at the man appraisingly in response. Why would such a person be involved with Muraki, anyways? He wanted to know, and it made him angry that he didn't. "Who are you?" Hisoka asked after a long pause of silence. Veren glanced at him sideways.

"It shouldn't matter to you. Not when you won't be around for too much longer."

"Muraki must have gone completely off his rocker to consort with trash like you," Hisoka retorted. At this, Veren gave Hisoka a look that showed his disdain for the remark as clear as shined glass.

"I'm his associate in crime," Veren said stiffly, crossing his arms, his pride clearly injured. This act only accomplished in pleasing Hisoka all the more.

"More like his lackey, then," He stated knowingly, and Veren scowled bitterly.

"You are a rude son of a bitch, aren't you? Muraki revises the plans, I take out the obstacles."

He must have guessed that Hisoka didn't get the idea of the comment, for he went on to say, "I kill the people in the way."

"What does that make me?" Hisoka inquired flatly, hiding all emotion behind the perfectly formed mask he had created long ago to cover his vulnerable soul.

"_Someone in the way..._" Veren said in a malicious whisper. With that sickeningly unjust remark, stood, preparing to leave. "Don't worry. Muraki has need for you for a little longer. Until then, though, you will just have to expect being only a tool." His smile returned as he spoke, his yellow eyes arching into catlike slits. Then he turned on his heel and left the room, slamming and locking the steel door behind himself.

"Bastard..." Hisoka muttered to himself in the fresh silence, the word hardly a comfort for him in the cold darkness, as well as reality...


	3. Ch 3: The Dinner Party

**Author's Comments**: This is the third chapter to be edited and uploaded. It will soon be followed by the rest, so be patient with me a little longer, please. ~Maggie

**Chapter Three: The Dinner Party**

The darkness was carnassial... There was no escaping it. Only a faint dripping sound could be heard, echoing through the thick black. Hisoka kept his eyes closed, not daring to stare out at the bleak surroundings that only made his hope falter the more he looked. It was better to not see and have blind hope, than to see and have no hope.

The barbed wire around his wrists no longer held much pain for him, not when he focused only on his thoughts. His shoulders ached as well as his back from laying on the stone floor for so long, but he ignored the dull throbbing pain of his joints like he did with his bleeding wrists, never healing from the spiked metal digging in. He listened only, reaching out with smell and sound to know what was around him.

Another drop of water falling to scatter upon the ground...

The smell of moss and mildew was constant, drowning out any other scents he might have picked up, and it made him rather dizzy. He guessed it was partially from the musty air, most likely making breathing more laborious. He coughed lightly, sighing into the stones beneath him. It had been two days, at least, since he had been taken prisoner and tossed into this room like some useless rag-doll. He assumed that muraki thought of him as that anyway.

He had to wonder how much longer they would keep him in the horrid place. No... Not they; He. Hisoka doubted that Veren was anywhere near being the ringleader in this scheme. It was most likely all of Muraki's brilliant and terrible ideas. Veren didn't look like he could think his way out of a cardboard box. But even in assuming so, this brought up other questions. What exactly was Muraki planning? He knew it had something to do with getting to Tsuzuki in one way or another, but he didn't know how the madman was planning on going about it.

Hisoka's mind reeled, spinning with notions and ideas, a never-ending void of questions. It made him somewhat sick to the stomach, so he soon gave up on thinking entirely. He only lay where he was, not moving in the slightest with his eyes closed. Tranquility. That was all that he sought for in this cruel tempest that was at play. He wanted to escape everything, discard every troubling thought or emotion so that it would fall and shatter upon the ground like the beads of water.

It was a nice idea, Hisoka had to admit, but it was near impossible. Especially with his dwelling personality and overly acute empathy. He recalled another time when he had been locked away from the outside world. He had been imprisoned in a room very much like the one he was in now; only it had been by his own parents. Painful memories suddenly crashed over him like a wave.

Both his parents were screaming at him, throwing out poisonous words of hatred and rage. He cowered in his corner, covering his ears and trying to block them out. But he could still feel it... He could feel their hate resonating from them and it made the air thick in his lungs. He just wanted to feel love. That was all he wanted from them... But apparently, that was the one thing that they couldn't give...

"Oy! You deaf?!" A voice shattered into the silence as well as his thoughts, and Hisoka grimaced, opening his eyes after what had seemed like an eternity. Veren stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips in a careless, slouching position, and his expression was that of annoyance. "I've been talking to you for like, ten minutes! Did you hear anything that I fucking said?!"

"I _thought_ I heard something like a whining, screeching noise..." Hisoka remarked dully, averting his eyes from the older boy. Veren didn't like that comment. He bristled and seemed like he would storm over at any second to beat him unconscious, but surprisingly, he took a breath and relaxed his shoulders.

"As I was saying!" He growled, trying to keep what little dignity he had left. "Muraki wants you to come up and have dinner with him."

Hisoka smiled hollowly saying, "Sorry, I'm a little busy."

"It wasn't a request. Now get up off your ass!" Veren hissed, grabbing Hisoka by the arm, and he wrenched him up off the floor with a painful jerk.

Hisoka flinched from the fresh pain shooting through his creaking limbs and his bleeding wrists as he was dragged out, stumbling over his feet. Veren pulled him up a set of stairs and suddenly the scenery was drastically changed. Instead of being in a rotting and moss filled dungeon, Hisoka now found himself in a very Victorian style house. He blinked his eyes as the new light attacked him, and once he could see again, he got a good look around.

Burgundy colored furniture filled the room, a silky suede couch and a love seat placed upon a crème colored carpet. The drapes hanging from the windows were crème as well, with an intricate pattern of gold wove into the fabric. Delicate tapestries adorned the walls, showing scenes of beautiful gardens and water fountains. Hisoka couldn't help but stare at the fancy demeanor of the place, and he had to wonder why such a lovely house had such a disgusting 'basement'.

He didn't have long to look, because Veren pulled him along, heading up another staircase with a polished ivory handrail. He was dragged down a hallway and then forced into a room. When he examined the place, he immediately noted that it was a bathroom. There was a large tub at the center, appearing like it could hold more than four people, and it was filled with pink-tinted water that put off a sweet fragrance. The floor was made up of white marble and glistened under his feet, a strange view compared to the crumbling stone he had seen for nearly two days.

"Um... why did you bring me here?" Hisoka inquired warily, and Veren laughed behind him.

"You can't expect to go to a dinner party when you're covered in dirt and blood, can you?" He pointed it out as if it were as clear as day.

Hisoka didn't know what to say to this remark, but he certainly knew that he didn't want Veren in the same room with him, or even a room over, when he was naked. He glanced sideways at the wannabe punk rocker, waiting for him to leave. He didn't budge, only stood and smiled with his overly smug grin. Maybe he could just get in with his clothes on…

"Well?" Veren inquired pointedly, his yellow eyes shifting from Hisoka to the full bathtub suggestively.

"I'm not getting in with you in here!" Hisoka retorted back.

"You don't have much of a choice, boy," the older man replied with a shrug, moving in to undo the barbed wire wrapped around his wrists, a large mistake on his part.

The moment he was free, Hisoka brought his arm up and hit Veren square in the jaw with a sickening crack. The man grunted, but grabbed him by the wrists before he could make a mad dash from the room.

"Fucking…!" Veren started, but he obviously didn't know exactly how he was going to finish the line, for he took a breath and went on to say, "You shouldn't even try! This house has a seal wrapped around the entire perimeter. You won't ever be able to get out."

Hisoka didn't know if he spoke the truth or not, but either way, he was coming to the conclusion that he was just going to have to cooperate and play along for the time being if he wanted to make it out alive. Then, when an opportunity came, he could find a way to escape.

He relaxed his clenched fists and ceased his struggling, falling still in Veren's grip to let him know that he acknowledged the information. Sensing his victory, Veren smiled once more and gave a light tug on Hisoka's shirt, pulling it upward.

"I can undress myself!" Hisoka snapped. Veren paused, a thoughtful expression taking the place of his cocky smile, but then the grin was back a few seconds later, and he took a couple steps back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Alright then. Undress," he said smugly, his gaze focused on Hisoka.

"What?"

"You heard me. You said you can undress yourself, can't you?" His voice was taunting and Hisoka scowled, muttering to himself as he slowly removed his shirt. Veren's eyes followed his movements hungrily, tracing the outline and the curves of the boy's pale frame as he stripped of his clothing. Hisoka's face burned in humiliation and he didn't dare even so much as glance at Veren.

Once he had finished, he stood there in the nude, shivering slightly from the lack of clothing and feeling extremely bare. Veren didn't move for a long moment, only stared with his predator eyes, but then he strode over and gave Hisoka a nudge towards the bathtub. The touch of the other's fingers brushing against his bare skin made Hisoka shudder unpleasantly, and he slipped into the large tub quickly to hide himself, letting the hot water fill in around him.

He would have found it quite refreshing if he hadn't been under the watchful eye of Veren as he bathed. He scrubbed the dirt from his skin as well as the blood from his wrists, which were stinging like mad, and he rinsed out his sandy blonde hair. He ran his fingers through it to take the tangles out before he decided he was clean enough. At least, as clean as he was going to get… He sat in the now grimy tub water, wondering if he should just get out or if he had to wait for Veren to tell him to.

Hisoka could feel the man's gaze boring into his back for another partial moment, but then it was gone as he went to grab a towel from a finely ornamented shelf. He then returned and held it out to Hisoka, who took it eagerly, wrapping it around his waist with haste once he stood, before Veren could see any more of him. After he was mostly dried off, Veren handed him a new pile of clothes, which consisted of black Hakama, with a coordinating short Yukata top. The shirt had the pattern of autumn leaves woven across it in an emerald green color, most likely chosen to match his eyes. He had to wonder why he had been given Martial Arts' clothing, but he wasn't obliged to ask.

He slipped on the clothes and, surprisingly, they fit perfectly. He had to note how knowing that bastard Muraki could be. He also contemplated dimly on what that sick man wanted of him as Veren lead him out of the bathroom and back down the stairs.

They walked down several hallways, most lit by lamps with paintings lining the walls. Hisoka severely doubted that this was Muraki's house. He guessed that the previous owner had most likely died, or was killed, and Muraki had taken over the premises. It wasn't that farfetched of an idea for someone as twisted as the doctor.

Veren came to an abrupt stop in front of a pair of mahogany, double doors at the end of one of the hallways. He pulled one of the gold blemished handles, and it swung outward as he used his other hand to escort Hisoka inside. The older man didn't follow, and the boy heard the door close behind him as he entered.

Before him was a large dining table with one place setting at each end. At the farthest end from him, Muraki sat, a delicate crystal wine glass held in his hand. A low fire was built within the large fireplace behind him, and the flames licked and flickered towards him, as if fueling his evil intent. Or perhaps, Hisoka thought, Hell was trying to grab for him.

The man widely brandished his hand, motioning Hisoka to sit where the second place had been set up. Hisoka reluctantly strode over and took his seat, but he didn't even so much as glance down at the food prepared on his china plate.

"What do you want?" Hisoka inquired directly, not bothering to beat around the bush, and the mad doctor's lips curled up in a delighted smile at his shrewdness.

"I want your company," was his cool reply. He swirled the red liquid around in his glass before taking a sip of it.

Hisoka snorted. "I find that hard to believe."

"And why is that?" Muraki pressed, leaning forward slightly in his chair, as if he actually wanted to know out of innocent curiosity.

"What are you planning?" Hisoka avoided answering the man's previous question, for he did not find it at all relevant.

Muraki sighed lamentably and leaned back in his chair once more, delicately crossing one leg over the other.

"So rash. I do not know what you mean, boy," he mused, taking another sip from his glass.

Hisoka shot out of his chair and slammed both palms down on the table with a resounding bang, rattling the silverware in the process. "You damn well know what I mean!" He shouted, his temper flaring.

Muraki didn't change his posture, nor his expression. He had an amused curve to his lips, and his uncovered silver eye was focused, unwavering.

"Please, have a seat," he said gently. Hisoka stared at him in bewilderment, his heart beating wildly inside his chest, before he clenched his fists and forced himself to sit, his fingernails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. Once he was seated again, Muraki continued. "It has been a while, poppet, since we last met. When was that? Ah, yes, Kyoto. Which reminds me, how has Mr. Tsuzuki recovered?"

Hisoka answered back through gritted teeth. "He was perfectly fine when he still thought you were dead."

Muraki waved away his rude comment. "We can not seem to escape each other, boy, as you may have noticed. You always had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Our first meeting couldn't have been more unfortunate for you. I must say it was not much of a hindrance to me. It gave me a chance to 'get to know you' more intimately."

Hisoka swallowed hard, his pupils dilating dangerously at the mention of his first run-in with Kazutaka Muraki. His body went rigid as he struggled to keep his posture, and his tightly clenched fists shook feverishly in his lap.

Muraki went on to say, "You were beautiful bathed in crimson moonlight. It couldn't have been a more perfect night. Such a pretty doll... So much fun to… _play_ with."

Unable to stand any more poisonous words, Hisoka sent the dish in front of him flying with a single swipe of his hand across the tabletop. The porcelain shattered on the floor with a ravenous clamor, the pieces splintering in all directions. "Shut-up! You shut the _fuck_ up!!"

Muraki eyed Hisoka with cool composure, saying nothing. Then he slowly leaned forward to place his nearly empty wine glass onto the table, uncrossing his leg in one fluid movement.

"I do believe you have managed to make this a rather unpleasant dinner party," the Doctor finally spoke, feigning disappointment. "Such lewdness should not be uttered in such fine a house as this."

"Fuck you, Muraki!" Hisoka hissed, standing so quickly that he knocked his chair over. "I don't have to sit here and listen to your bullshit!" He would rather be in the cold and mold of the basement than be in Muraki's presence. In fact, he would escort himself down if he had to. It was agonizing enough as it was just being within a mile of the man clad in white, let alone in the same room with him.

Hisoka turned purposefully towards the door. There was no reason for him to stay. Attacking Muraki sounded like the situation he most wanted to act on, and he knew just how gratifying it would be to slam his fist into the smug doctor's face, but he also understood that if he did, he would only be proclaiming his weakness and what little willpower he had. Instead, he would just leave. He doubted he could escape the house, but he could at least escape Muraki's crooked mockery.

As Hisoka reached for the polished handle on the door, Muraki appeared behind him with lightning quickness, catching him by the outstretched wrist before his fingertips could touch the cool metal.

"Going so soon? Was this dinner party not to your tastes?" Muraki inquired maliciously. "How uncouth of me. Perhaps you had wished to see your new bedroom first. After all, I took the liberty of having it prepared for you. Shall we go see?"

"Let go!!" Hisoka hissed, Muraki's hand as cold as that of a corpse, yet burning like hellfire on his skin. "I'd rather stay in the dungeon!" He went to wrench his arm free, but the grip did not relinquish.

"Nonsense," Muraki quickly countered, his free hand taking the handle of the door to open it, the other still painfully holding the young shinigami in place. "I insist you stay in the room I have prepared for you."

He pulled Hisoka through easily, regardless of the boy's writhing and digging in his heels. Hisoka absolutely loathed this house. It seemed to swallow up every attempt he made, eating away at his spiritual powers and leaving only his painfully acute empathy. He had never felt so helpless, not since that night under the blood moon. He had sworn when he became a Death God that he would never be as powerless as he had been then. The fact that he could not keep up with his oath was tearing at him vigorously, constantly.

Muraki guided him along, leading him back up the stairs where the bathroom had been, past it, then down the hallway to yet another flight of stairs. Whoever had previously owned the house had to have been rolling in wealth to own such an expansive and intricately decorated home.

Muraki finally paused outside a door at the end of the following hall, nudging it with a gentle touch of his fingers since it wasn't entirely closed. Inside was a small, ornate bedroom, but Hisoka only got a good look at the cream colored carpeting as he was roughly shoved inside. He landed hard on his knees, but caught himself with his hands, rearing his head around to glare at Muraki in the doorway.

The Doctor simply smiled knowingly, his eyes narrowing with a falseness that rivaled the curling up of his lips, saying, "I hope you enjoy the room." Then the door was quietly pulled shut, followed by the soft clicking sound of a lock being turned. Hisoka had been locked in.

He remained where he was on the floor, his aloof position slowly melting away until he lay on his side, staring vacantly at the wood of the door with blurred emerald eyes. He refused to cry, he would never let himself, but the tears burned painfully behind his eyelids, fighting to spill over. He bit them back harshly, not giving himself such a lenience as to let even one fall. He simply lay where he was, letting the bitter company of misery swallow him...


	4. Ch 4: Mine for the taking

**Author's Comments:** This chapter needed redone in the worst possible way! It took a long time to go through and edit, but I finally got it to a point I was happy with. So here is chapter four completely revised.

**Chapter Four: Mine for the taking**

Hisoka opened his eyes to soft carpeting, slowly becoming aware of the fact that he was still lying on the floor from the previous night, and he blinked his eyes wearily as he sat up. Jolts of pain spiraled up his arms and back, a side effect from sleeping on a flat surface for more than an hour's time. Not much padding. He groaned and slowly stretched, his joints popping and creaking in protest from the movement. He rubbed at his eyes, as if trying to brandish away his malcontent from waking, then achingly got to his feet.

He scanned the room appraisingly, since he had not done so before. His gaze immediately shifted to the window off to his left. His heart pounded painfully as he stared at it longingly, too afraid to go to it and crush the hopes that were beginning to fill his chest. But then he took one shaky step forward, then another, and another, until he reached the glass pane. He reached out and grasped the wooden edge of it, taking a deep breath before tugging up. It didn't budge.

Hisoka's beating heart felt like it had fallen into his stomach, and he released the air that he had been holding. It wasn't like it would have done him any good being unlocked. He tried to convince himself of this as he recalled Veren's words.

"_You shouldn't even try! This house has a seal wrapped around the entire perimeter. You won't ever be able to get out."_

The statement made his adrenaline flare, and he clenched his fingers, swinging his arm back to gain momentum. The idea was the put his fist through the windowpane, but for some unexplainable reasoning his knuckles simply knocked hard against the surface, leaving not even a single mark. It must have been a strong form of magic he likened to that of the seal around the house.

Trying to shy away from his bitter thoughts of a failed attempt, Hisoka took to exploring the rest of his new room, not one to linger. There was a large four-post bed pressed back into one of the corners with an intricate headboard and a silky, crimson bedspread. Beside it was a dark mahogany vanity, spinning mirror included, as well as assorted perfumes in various bottles, and brushes. This room had belonged to a young woman. Hisoka didn't want to think about what horrors Muraki had wrought on the previous owners. If they had any sort of luck at all, he had just killed them.

Hisoka turned away from the vanity to face the other direction, noting the window once more, as well as a small dresser with a vase of wilting flowers upon it's polished surface. Tiger Lilies. Such a beautiful flower, really.

His mind flashed backwards, recalling an encounter that seemed like so long ago but still had not lost any of its vibrancy.

"_Hey, Hisoka!" Tsuzuki motioned his partner over to join him by his side. "Look, Posies. I've never seen them grow around here. We're lucky to see them this time of year." The man paused, gazing almost lovingly at the small flowers blooming beside the outer sidewalk. "Do you like Posies?"_

"_No," Hisoka replied, shaking his head._

_Tsuzuki looked a bit taken back. "No?"_

"_I don't like flowers. They always die."_

"_But they still have a purpose," the older Shinigami pressed, speaking with the delicate, yet assertive tone that is used with a misunderstanding child._

"_Their purpose is rather pathetic, Tsuzuki. They are only there to look at, nothing more."_

"…"

He came back to the present and felt a sudden vindictiveness towards the plant. In a sense, he and it were the same. The fading blossoms before him were only dying in the first place because they were appealing to gaze upon. Flowers were picked for the purpose of being looked at, but they always withered away into nothing not long after. Muraki had picked him, cut him away from his life, and he had slowly decayed like the dying flowers.

Forever Muraki's pretty little doll...

Hisoka grimaced, the sharp taste of bitter years of sickness and fever entering his senses, and he abruptly spun away from the pitiful flowers before him. He did not need to be reminded. He strode over to the window to peer outside for the first time in days, pulling his mind from the vase. The sun was covered in a gray haze of clouds, and it appeared to have been raining for some time. There was a large garden below him, flowers stretching up and following along a path of marble stepping-stones. There was a small cherry-tree in one corner, but it carried no blossoms. Its leaves were beginning to turn in the autumn season, blooming with a different kind of beauty that consisted of vibrant hues. Pines surrounded the rest of the garden, creating an utterly enclosed environment.

At one point, Hisoka was certain it had been for the purpose of peace and privacy, a luxury that only the rich could afford. But now it was the perfect cover for a murderer to hide from watchful eyes. It seemed a little distressing how things could be twisted so easily to Muraki's advantage. The doctor could effortlessly taint anything, and everything, that was pure. It was like it all just went to spoil and rot when the man so much as touched it.

Hisoka felt a sudden pang to his chest that interrupted his thoughts, and he furrowed his brows into an expression of distress when he realized its reason of existence.

'"Then I must be tainted as well..." He murmured, taking away the hand he had pressed pensively against the window glass. He sighed and went to sit on the bed, burying his face in his hands in frustration. He had to get out; he would go mad if he didn't. There had to be a way. He couldn't just wait for Tsuzuki to come for him, like a damsel in distress waiting for her night in shining armor. No, he had to find a way out of this on his own. Like he had told others, and even himself many times, he wasn't a child. He would find a way.

Like a caged tiger, Hisoka wandered about the room, testing the thickness of the walls and looking inside the closet for any kind of opening, a crawlspace perhaps. He found none. He tried to door, even though he was aware that it was locked, and attempted to heel kick it down after knocking on the wood to find its sturdiness. All he achieved in the end was an aching ankle and a foul mood.

"Shit!" He cursed aloud to himself, wandering back to the bed to sit and inspect his now throbbing limb. "This whole damn place is sealed off…!"

Hisoka couldn't say for sure why he hadn't noticed the sound of the door being unlocked. Perhaps it was his sheer frustration. In any case, he only became aware of it when the door suddenly swung open and Muraki stood there in the entrance, swathed in his usual white attire.

"Enjoying your stay?" He inquired, obviously amused at the sight of Hisoka's swift expression change at being caught unaware. His shock was painfully evident.

Hisoka shot up from the bed, ignoring the pain in his ankle that the sudden movement caused, snapping, "Get out!!"

Muraki shook his head, feigning disappointment. "Such a rude guest. No manners whatsoever."

"I'm not a guest, I'm a prisoner!" Hisoka corrected him hatefully.

Muraki smiled, acknowledging the statement coolly as he entered fully into the room, one hand in his slacks pocket, leaving the door ominously open behind him. Hisoka's eyes strayed from the Muraki to the door in a single flitting motion, his mind already reeling with escape attempts he could make. Muraki seemed to take no notice of it.

"I was thinking the other night after you ruined our dinner party," Muraki began, moving further into the room. "And I came to the conclusion that perhaps you need a reminder of your manners."

Hisoka was barely focused on the stream of words leaving Muraki's mouth. All his attention was on the open door and on how Muraki was now in a position far enough from it where he could get past and out. He bore no thoughts on what he planned to do once he was out, or where he planned to go. He simply understood that there was an opportunity before him and that he was going to take it. He bristled, readying himself like a big cat about to leap, and once Muraki had taken the perfect spot before him, he lunged. He swung his weight around and past the doctor in one rough motion, the gap between himself and the door becoming smaller and smaller. He threw out a hand to catch himself in case he fell, his fingertips just barely passing the door frame, when he was wrenched back forcibly by his waist.

"Gah!!" Hisoka made an involuntary cry, the air being compulsorily expelled from his lungs by the arm wrapped around his abdomen. He couldn't breathe, his air was gone, and Muraki swung him back around to slam to the floor with little resistance. He hit his head hard, stunning him momentarily, and he rolled onto his side, curled in pain.

"I hadn't finished talking," Muraki lectured him, the words slurred and hazy to Hisoka's ears. "You truly are such a terrible boy."

Hisoka grimaced, the world churning before his evergreen eyes. He felt sick…

Muraki's pale hand lowered to clasp around his wrist and he hefted the boy partially off the floor. The Shinigami dangled by his arm, his pupils dilating in and out as his vision tried to focus like a camera lens, his head spinning dangerously. It would be very unfortunate is he got a concussion.

Still gripping one arm, Muraki dipped to catch him under his legs, lifting the boy up and onto the bed.

"My hold on you seems to have weakened as of late," Muraki stated as he set Hisoka down against the covers. "It has been increasingly more difficult to sway your mind. I believe it is time that I renewed the old curse."

"No…no…" Hisoka mumbled, the only coherent thing he could get out past his lips. His mind was trying to register the mad doctor's words and he didn't like what he was hearing.

Muraki loosened his tie, slipping it free from about his neck. He brought Hisoka's arms up, wrapping the fabric tightly around his wrists and looping it around one of the bedposts. In a haze, the boy tugged at it, wishing the tear free but finding he couldn't. He should have been able to break it, but he was not able to focus any strength into his arms, nor summon his inner power due to the properties of the spell in the house.

Once he was convinced the strap would hold out, Muraki sat leisurely at the side of the bed.

"I'm afraid this will not be as sensual as our first meeting," he lamented, one hand delicately reaching out to stroke the boy's exposed collarbone, "but I will do my best to make up for it." His hand slid downwards past the crease of the folded top to the knot of the hakama. Hisoka had tied it tight, but the knot still came loose easily with a bit of prying from the doctor's skilled hands. Muraki pulled back the flaps of his shortened yukata, exposing the pale skin beneath, leaving Hisoka's pants for the time being. The man chuckled, amused by what he saw, as well as enamored by it. "You look almost exactly as you did then. Still only a child…"

Hisoka sucked in a hiss of air at the feel of Muraki's cold hands on his chest.

"I've often thought of taking you again," Muraki went on, his fingertips gliding down the boy's sternum to his bellybutton. "I normally crave a more developed body like Mr. Tsuzuki's, but I can't honestly say you are not appealing to me." His hands slid down Hisoka's sides, falling to rest on the edges of his hakama. "I could teach you such pleasurable things..."

"Stop-" Hisoka started, but Muraki paid him no heed and slipped the fabric down over his thighs.

"Not much development here, either," he noted cruelly, and Hisoka's skin flushed with shame and humiliation, his entire body quivering. He wanted to fight back, to force Muraki to swallow such horrible words, but his head pounded painfully and a feverish ache held him unmoving except for the occasional tug on his binds.

But Muraki had yet to say the most painful comment of all.

"Do you think Tsuzuki could love as naïve a body as yours?" the doctor inquired.

For some unexplainable reason, the question bit deep into Hisoka's chest, a pain far worse than any physical state of being could produce. It hurt more than he could ever express, especially since he had already thought of it himself many a time. The fact that Muraki had spoken his fears out loud sliced through his defensive walls to reach the very core.

While he would never admit to himself that he thought of his partner in a romantic way, he certainly worried incessantly about what Tsuzuki thought of him. He feared the man would always see him as a child and never as an equal. Tsuzuki was only ever protective of him, when Hisoka wanted to do the protecting. How many times had he told his partner that he could handle things on his own, only to have Tsuzuki somehow seize the lead from him out of worry that he couldn't? Asato seemed to feel a certain passion for him, but what if Hisoka only mistook his concern for something more?

Hisoka's expression betrayed his inner dwellings, and Muraki's lips turned up in delight.

"It seems I have dredged up something you didn't want to be exposed," the man murmured in satisfaction, leaning his body further over Hisoka's. "Shall I remind you of other feelings you wish to forget?"

Muraki's cold hand trailed dangerously up the boy's inner thigh, coming too close to a certain place Hisoka never wanted to be touched again. Not after that night…

Both their eyes met for a moment, panicked evergreens and frozen silver with an electric blue ally. Muraki's grin grew callous, his hand slowly moving upward, closer and closer, the freezing fingertips feeling more like scalding iron on Hisoka's sensitive flesh, Muraki's other hand coming to rest over the left side of his chest above his pounding heart, the hand on his leg shifting higher and higher until-

-A ringing sound.

Muraki paused momentarily, as if puzzled by the interruption, then his hand on the boy's thigh went to his slacks pocket. It came back out with a cell phone, which he flipped open and held to his ear, saying nothing. He was silent, listening to whoever was speaking on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Afterwards, he snapped the cell closed, his smile replaced with that of dismay.

"Well," he finally said. "It sounds like we will have to finish this some other time." His hand gently slipped off of Hisoka's chest, lingering a few seconds longer than needed, before he swung off the bed. The man adjusted his jacket, which had become lightly ruffled, gave one last meaningful look at the boy in the bed, and then he was gone out the door as swiftly and silently as he had come through it.

Hisoka released the breath he had been holding, panting to gain back the air he had suppressed for so long. He shook violently, partially from relief, but also from the dread that Muraki would come back for him, and a cold sheen of sweat coated his exposed body.

He would escape. He _had_ to escape. The thought of that disgusting, heartless man penetrating him for a second time was absolutely unbearable. He summoned as much strength as he could, tugging harshly at the tie around his wrists, sending stabs of pain zigzagging down his arms. Blood soon began to drip down from where the tough fabric dug into the still marred skin of where the barbwire had previously been. Hisoka gritted his teeth and kept pulling. He was almost loose, he could feel a small gap forming, but it was going to seriously hurt if he wrenched himself free.

Deciding he would rather go through that instead of Muraki, he quickly inhaled, letting the breath build up in his chest and feeling the tension of his lungs, then yanked.

There was a snapping sound as one of his wrists twisted and popped, and then he was untied. He gave a sharp cry, clutching his right arm to his chest in pain, grimacing. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but he forced himself to get up off the bed, using his right hand as little as possible in the process. Good thing he was mostly ambidextrous. He painstakingly fixed his clothing, only able to tie the hakama knot loosely with the use of one hand, and once he was dressed properly again, he impulsively went to the door.

It was a slim hope, but he still prayed with all his heart, and someone answered him for the first time in his life.

Muraki had forgotten to lock it.

Hisoka slowly opened the door, peering out into the empty hallway, his empathy reaching out tentatively in every direction. There was not a single tinge of emotion that he could feel, and he silently stepped out into the open.


	5. Ch 5: And where have YOU been?

**Author's Notes: **This chapter needed little altering, so it was done fairly quick. Regardless, there are some things that are different from the original chapter.

**Chapter Five: And where have _you_ been?**

There was silence. A sonnet of nothingness that danced through Tsuzuki's ears, echoing throughout his mind with the quiet. His head throbbed, aching painfully like his brain was trying to rip out past his skull. He groaned, wanting nothing more than to put his hands to his temples and somehow rub away the agony, but he was held fast, unable to move for some unseen reason. It was dark. Was it night? Or perhaps his eyes weren't even open at all? He feebly struggled against the invisible force that held him, but his strength was utterly drained and there was no gratifying result of loosening his bonds. His arms were still as tightly strung up above his head as they had been before.

In his pause, he heard a faint scuttling sound off to his right. Becoming aware of another presence in the room, his body went on automatic alert, his muscles tensing. He waited for a long moment, straining to hear any other sounds, a heartbeat, a soft exhale of air. Oddly, nothing came. Everything fell back into silence once more, and the only sound was Tsuzuki's careful breathing. He glanced around into the darkness, straining all of his senses. His forced gaze caused his vision to focus in the black, and he scanned the surrounding area. He finally caught sight of a small motion out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head to see it fully. But by that time, nothing was there.

"Who are you..?" He called out, his voice dry and dusty sounding from not having spoken for a long period of time.

There was another faint shuffling noise, but no reply came. Tsuzuki, becoming rather annoyed at the lack of explaining, tried once more, his voice turning more forceful. "Who the hell are you?!"

This time, there was another pause, but then he heard soft footsteps padding towards him. They grew closer and closer, echoing against the concrete floor until he could see a pale figure approaching him from out of the pitch. The person was sickly skinny, the very joints of their bones protruding past the gaunt, stretched flesh. They wore a stained and tattered crème dress, or perhaps it was a long tee shirt, he couldn't tell, but it only went to the person's knees and only helped in making the creature's form seem even more shriveled. As they came closer, he could almost spy long curly hair falling past the shoulders. It must have been a very light color, for he could barely see the tangled curls. The person's face remained mostly in shadow, not allowing Tsuzuki to see any discerning features, not that he thought he would recognize such a haunt anyways.

The person opened their mouth to speak, and Tsuzuki could have sworn he heard a creaking noise come from their jawbone as it shifted.

"I am... that which is dead..." the thing murmured, its voice rather high-pitched and hardly audible, the sound rising and falling like wind blowing through trees.

"As am I," Tsuzuki replied shortly, not wanting to waste too much time on shrouded introductions. "What do you want from me?"

The creature swayed back and forth, as if it were uncertain about what he had asked, and it stayed silent for a painfully long moment.

When he thought it wasn't going to answer him, it finally opened its mouth once more.

"We must... keep you here... Tsuzuki..." it hissed through its dry lips.

"We?" the man pressed.

So there were others? He decided from the body type and the voice that the thing before him was female, but what about the others it spoke of? Did they look the same? Or were they something else entirely? He couldn't completely focus, the pain in his head distracting him greatly, so he decided to wait and see what the 'woman' planned to say next.

"Yes..." she rasped. "We cannot let you leave..."

"Why not?" Tsuzuki countered, forcing patience and an even tone. If he wanted to get anywhere, he needed to be calm and collected. Hisoka often got after him for being a spazz, but he almost always took his work seriously, especially when he was in a rather bad predicament. And this was certainly turning out to be a particularly bad one.

The woman swayed once more as if the merest bantam breeze would send her adrift. Then, slowly creeping into view from the darkness, others appeared. Most of them seemed female, looking remarkably similar to the first, but Tsuzuki likened a few in the group to being male. There were at least ten of them in all, and they gathered in around the bound man, their mummified faces expressionless and their skin stretched tight across their withering frames. They all began to speak at once, most voices hard to distinguish from the other.

"You... cannot leave..." one hissed.

"...You must... stay here with us..." another chimed in.

"We cannot... let him have what... he wants..." a third wheezed.

At this point, no longer able to stand it, Tsuzuki cut in, wanting to break into the conversation after hearing what the last one had said.

"He? Who is He?" he questioned, his eyebrows furrowing.

None of them seemed like they wanted to answer, and they all glanced around at each other in the darkness through their hollowed sockets of eyes, as if daring someone to speak. The one that had spoken to him first opened her creaking mouth once more, obviously taking the task of explaining.

"...The devil in white, is who we speak of..." She said in a ragged whisper. "The murderer and... keeper of our souls."

The others all muttered in agreement, nodding their abhorrent heads.

"Who is that...?" Tsuzuki asked cautiously, a name already forming on his lips but refusing to spillover. He was getting a cold chill than ran up and down his spinal cord, spilling over him like an icy wave of malcontent. It was exactly the same feeling he had whenever he was around-

"Muraki...!" The woman spat the name out in a tone of loathing, finishing Tsuzuki's thought. Regardless, his amethyst eyes widened.

"Muraki? Muraki killed all of you? Is that what all of this is about?" He inquired incredulously, slightly angered at the prospect. These ghouls had captured him because of Muraki? Why? What was the point? He couldn't understand. Luckily, the one before him spoke up once more.

"The... devil needs you, Tsuzuki... we can't let him... have you," She sibilated, pointing a long and emaciated finger at his face.

The man snorted. "I can take of myself!" He retorted with indignation.

The woman laughed, a hollow and cackling sound that emitted deep from within her throat. The sound of it made Tsuzuki's gut clench into a tight knot, a quick chill sweeping up and down his spine.

Once she finished, she continued with, "No... That is not the reasssson." Upon pronouncing the last word, she dragged out the S, making her sound very much like a serpent. Her gaunt head tipped back so that her hollowed eyes shifted down upon him, her skull resting upon her left shoulder. "You... would go to ... him..."

"Why would I go to Muraki?" Tsuzuki beseeched her with a condescending tone. That would certainly be the last thing he would ever do!

The thing before him smiled coyly, if it could be called a smile. It seemed more like a crooked turning up of the lips, like she was snarling.

"Oh... but you would, Tsuzuki... You would go to get back... what was taken..." She brawled in her long-winded speech.

Tsuzuki's eyes narrowed. "...What was taken?" He asked after a long, stagnant silence.

Instead of answering, she pulled something small from the folds of her ratty dress and held it out towards him, hidden by her anorexic fingers. She slowly unfurled them and something glinted gold, falling to the floor with a small 'clink' in front of him. It spun around for a few seconds and then fell flat, coming to a stop. At first, Tsuzuki didn't understand. It was a simple, gold button with a small design etched onto the surface that looked like a spiral. After a few moments of eyeing the small trinket, it hit him with a blow much like that of an oncoming train. He had seen the button before, many of them. They were the very same buttons that he had seen on Hisoka's coat before they split up on their mission.


	6. Ch 6: Making it up along the way

**Author's Note: **This is the final chapter to be edited! Now I will start working on uploading the newest chapter. For those of you who have stuck with me through thick and thin, thank you so much! ~Maggie

**Chapter Six: Making it up along the way**

Hisoka didn't know exactly what he planned to do upon leaving the room. It was not likely that he could fight with his wrists in such agony and his head in such disarray. He was certain he had a concussion, and knew that it was even less likely that he would be able to get out of the house. As Veren had so nicely put it, he was trapped, stuck like a mouse in a house full of hungry cats. But Hisoka wasn't working off of logic; he was working off of sheer will. Plus, mice could certainly bite. He was making things up as he went, but he preferred it to doing absolutely nothing at all.

So he found himself cautiously peering around every corner, being silent with every footfall, listening for any sound of another presence and feeling along with his empathy. His heart was thundering in his chest, and he was concerned that someone would hear it eventually. He quickened his pace, emerald eyes darting every which way as he made his way through the massive house. It took him a lot longer of a time for him to find the stairs to the main floor than he would have liked, due to his massive headache and lack of rational thought, but he almost let out a sigh of relief when he spotted the steps leading down with the mahogany hand railing.

He crept down slowly, worried that the wood would creak beneath his bare feet. Even such a small sound could give him away to wary listeners. He stayed close to the wall, not quite daring to use the railing in fear of being exposed from below. Once he had reached the last step, he peered about with the cautious clarity of a threatened animal, his eyes roaming about for any movement that might pull him in. Once he was sure there was no one or nothing about, he went on his way. This time, he wasted no quarry on looking upon the expensive and exquisite furnishings of the house. He simply looked for the exits. He knew there was no way out through them at the time, but if there ever were a chance that came up where he could get through the doors, he would be able to make a quick escape.

He passed the dining room and made his way towards the back of the house. He made note of all the windows he passed and, just for good measure, tried opening them. None of them were locked shut, but they would not even budge in the slightest at his prying. It seemed that Veren had been telling the truth.

Hisoka found it hard to believe that the chronically pierced man made telling the truth a habit. He seemed the type to be very fond of lying, even if no one was around to lie to besides his self. Hisoka hadn't the slightest idea of what the crude older boy was, but he most certainly was not human. No human could give him a punch to the gut that would knock his Shinigami body unconscious.

Yet, what he puzzled the most about was why Muraki kept the man around. Veren seemed quite useless when it came to the tactics of the clever and devious mind of the mad doctor. Not to mention he was quite stupid as well. Muraki must have had some use for him, a reason to keep the idiot around. It was not believable to think that Veren had no purpose other than killing people off. Muraki could do that easily enough by himself. There must have been something else. But no matter how much Hisoka tried to wrap his mind around as to why, he could come up with nothing. He decided to forget the topic for the moment and went back to paying attention to finding all the ways that he could possibly use later on to get out of the house.

He came upon one room that caught his interest. There was nothing catching about the mahogany door, it looked the same as the others in the house. No, it was the horrendous stench that seeped out from under the bottom of the wooden panel that caused him to pause. Hisoka grimaced and covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, eyeing the door suspiciously. Finding that he wanted to know what was inside more than his conscience could argue the point of 'curiosity killed the cat', he reached out tentatively to take the door handle within his free hand. The door was unlocked and Hisoka opened it slowly, standing back in case anything came rushing out at him from the darkness.

There was nothing but silence on the other side. Silence and the even stronger stench that now threatened to cause him to pass out. He swallowed hard and timidly stepped into the room a few feet, not quite daring to enter all the way in. In the dim lighting he could make out lumps strewn across the floor, all assorted sizes and shapes.

A grotesque feeling trickled down Hisoka's spine as his vision began to adjust to the darkness. He could make out what appeared to be a human hand on the carpeting, attached to nothing, with the white of the wrist bone jutting out from the end. Upon further inspection, he found that everything on the floor was body parts.

He gagged and took a shaky step back. There appeared to have been four people at one point, even though they were now torn into many different pieces. One was the body and strewn parts of a man, as well as what Hisoka was guessing was his wife at some point. The other two were the eviscerated bodies of small children, cast down upon the floor as if they had been nothing more than trash. Some of the body parts that should have been within the mangled mess were missing, nowhere to be seen. Blood was pooled thickly in most areas of the room, coagulated, and it was also splattered messily across the walls, as if it were a part of the wallpaper. Hisoka came to the certain and sickened conclusion that these people had been the real owners of the house.

Unable to handle the sight and the disgusting smell of rot and decaying bodies, Hisoka stumbled back and out of the room, still covering his mouth with his arm, only it was now out of disgust. He already felt like he was near the point of passing out from his blow to the head earlier and coming on to such a scene did not help.

As he back up, Hisoka was suddenly grabbed roughly from behind, one of his arms being wrenched behind his back by a vice like grip. He managed to make a strangled gasp of surprise before his chin was grasped by painful fingers, holding him in place and keeping his gaze upon the room full of gore covered carpeting.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Veren's voice cooed from behind him, hot breath tickling against the boy's ear. "They tasted better than they look, believe me."

"You... you ate them...?" Hisoka choked out, his expression growing even more revolted than before.

"That's right. At least, I ate the parts of them that I liked."

Hisoka felt as if he were going to heave, even though he knew that he had nothing for his stomach to give up after having not eaten for a few days. Regardless, that didn't take away the feeling of it. He knew that since Veren wasn't human that it wasn't cannibalism, yet Hisoka couldn't help but think that it was.

"You're sick...!" Hisoka stated in a low whisper, closing his eyes so he would not have to view the scene of carnage before him.

"Am I?" Veren hissed into his ear. "You are not one to judge. You reap the souls of humans as a job preference."

"I don't tear them apart beforehand!" Hisoka countered angrily, struggling to break out of the older boy's grip. "Release me!"

"No," The other replied with the simplicity of a child. "It feels good to hold you." His voice lowered to a dark tone as he whispered, "It makes me want to taste you..."

Hisoka flinched as a sharp and single canine dug into his earlobe, easily slicing through the soft skin. A tongue followed it, tracing across the small cut and lapping up the trickle of blood. Veren's mouth moved slowly from the bite and down Hisoka's throat to his jaw line, pausing there. The boy went to wrench himself free with a low growl of warning, only managing to twist his arm in a most unpleasant manner, his already aching wrists sending tingles of pain up through his arms to his shoulders.

"Get the hell off me!" Hisoka snarled, squirming more despite the pain, keen to get as far away from Veren as he possibly could.

"Ah..." The other boy breathed against his pale flesh. "You taste as sweet as you look."

Hisoka brought his foot down hard onto Veren's, and managed to pull free, making a dart for the hallway off to his side. The other boy was faster and slammed him up against the nearest wall, digging his fingers into Hisoka's throat and hoisting the writhing boy up off the ground by about a good foot. He made a choking sound as his air was forcefully cut off, clawing at the hand that pinned him to the wall.

"It is a shame your personality is not as sweet," Veren went on to say, staring up into Hisoka's contorted face with his pale yellow eyes. He moved in to press himself against Hisoka's body, still gripping the boy by the throat, but just barely loose enough to keep from strangling him. "I would so love to tear you apart, but Muraki has something much better in store for you."

Hisoka could only begin to imagine what could be worse than being eaten by Veren, but his mind was steadily growing foggy from the difficulty he was having in breathing.

Veren continued with, "At least I can still have some fun with you before it comes to that." Before Hisoka knew what was coming, he was pulled from the wall and then slammed back against it, knocking his senses for a loop and causing his vision to spin. A picture frame went clattering down to smash on the floor, and then Veren tossed him crudely to the side. Hisoka collided with a small stand that held glass figurines within, and that too fell. Shattered shards of glass flew out from the crushed figurines, many slicing into Hisoka's skin, tearing in past his thin clothing. He sprawled out onto his side, covering his head from the shower of glass that came glittering down, coating him.

Blood glistened out from numerous cuts, staining his pale complexion all the way up his arms and his chest, as well as his legs.

Veren sneered down at him, his eyes flashing in the darkness of the house, taking in the sight before him.

Before Hisoka could even manage to sit up, he was sat upon, Veren's legs around his waist. The added weight ground his back against the glass-covered floor, and he grimaced as the pieces stabbed up into him. Veren leaned forward so they were face to face, his unnerving smile still playing gleefully across his features. Without his Shinigami body, Hisoka was practically nothing against the man. He was utterly powerless within the house. Even his years of martial arts he had been trained in throughout his childhood could not help him now.

"I like you in this position," Veren said coyly from above him, tracing his fingers across a place where Hisoka's chest was exposed. His searching fingers found a slice in the skin and he pressed the tips down past the lips of the wound, enticing a cry of pain from Hisoka sprawled beneath him. The boy's hands came up and feebly tried to shove Veren away, his fingers shaking. Veren removed his digits from the cut and gripped him by the wrists, smearing Hisoka's own blood across them. "Don't expect your good for nothing partner to save you. He doesn't even know where you are."

Hisoka said nothing, keeping his mouth tightly closed. He refused to comment to Veren's toying words. It was really the only form of defiance he had left. He could hardly believe he had just barely gotten away from a scathe down memory lane with Muraki and now he was already back in nearly the same position. He so loathed being powerless.

It wasn't Tsuzuki that was kidnapped and used as a ransom. It wasn't Tsuzuki that was protected while his partner was injured to save him. It wasn't Tsuzuki that was so easily beaten and held by captors. Tsuzuki was so much stronger than that, so much stronger than Hisoka. And Hisoka knew it. He was absolutely nothing compared to Tsuzuki.

Veren's gaze was that of a hungry wolf about to devour a small lamb that had broken its leg in a gofer hole. At least the vibe Hisoka received from the older boy was a different kind of lust than Muraki's. He could tell that Veren actually wanted to eat him literally, not in a sexual way. He hated feeling the desire for sins of the flesh.

While it was true that Tsuzuki longed for him (Hisoka could feel the soft waves coming from his partner whenever they were alone) it had never come off as threatening. They were more like small glimpses of Tsuzuki's urge to hold him, to run his fingers through his hair. Simple things that Hisoka felt he could never give to the man, even though it made him feel so guilty on the inside. Again, it could have been only out of Tsuzuki's concern for him. Not love. He didn't dare to call it that.

"Once Muraki has no more use of you," Veren went on the say, catching Hisoka's attention once more. "I'll smear your remains over the floor in that room with the others." He nodded his head towards the open door where the deceased family now lay, though he needn't have bothered; Hisoka knew which room he meant. "But don't worry," he added. "There won't be as many leftovers of you as there was of them."

The statement wasn't at all as reassuring as Veren seemed to think it was, Hisoka had to note.


	7. Ch 7: In the Warehouse

**Author's Notes:** My God, it's been so long! I know this chapter is short, but I wanted to end it where I did, and it shouldn't take long for me to post the next chapter. I sure a lot of my original fans have given up on me, and I don't blame them. But if you have stuck with me this far, you have my most sincere gratitude! I can't thank you enough! I understand that it is inconvenient, but I have changed the content in all the chapters before this one, and much of the plot has changed. It would be best if they were reread so you can understand the new chapters that are to come. Again, thank you so much, and here is the newest chapter of Precious after years of waiting.

**Chapter Seven: In the Warehouse**

The incessant hissing and mutterings of the walking corpses nearly drove Tsuzuki mad with frustration. He tried many times to appeal to any part of them that might have still been human, but they only gave him forlorn glances and went on chattering with each other, completely looking the other way.

"Please!" He tried again for nearly the tenth time. "Please let me go, I have to help him!"

Once more, his begging went unacknowledged. Tsuzuki grimaced at their lack of notice, and he wrenched hard on the chains that held his arms above his head. The rattling echoed throughout the vast room, which Tsuzuki had earlier discovered was an abandoned warehouse. In a little longer, and he would probably be able to break the metal links, but he wanted to waste no time in getting loose. If Muraki had Hisoka, who knew what sort of disgusting things the doctor was doing to him.

"Damn…!" He cursed to himself, closing his eyes to hide away from the agonizing cascades of guilt that were pouring over him. It was his fault. It always was. Tsuzuki knew Muraki had only taken Hisoka as a lure for what the mad doctor really wanted, and that was him. Hisoka was suffering again for his rotten sake. How many times had he put the younger Shinigami in harms way for his selfish reasoning? The thought was unbearable, absolutely unbearable! He needed to find the boy. He _had_ to.

Tsuzuki pulled at the chains once more, tugging them down and twisting them from side to side in desperation. He had already tried to summon one of his Shikigami. Byakko would have easily tore the whole place down, but no matter how much he searched within himself, Tsuzuki could not make contact with any of his beastly friends.

One of the smaller creatures eyed the captured Shinigami nervously, her small form swaying back and forth. She did not converse with the others, and she held herself timidly, like that of a young girl, her emaciated hands close to her chest and her head lowered slightly. She continually glanced his direction, but looked away quickly if his eyes went to meet hers. If he could not reason with the others, perhaps he could get through to her.

"What's your name?" He asked softly, directing all of his attention onto her.

She seemed startled when he spoke, and creaked her head from side to side to verify it was her he was speaking to. She shook, afraid to answer, her dried fingers interlacing and then pulling apart in her unease. Tsuzuki was afraid she would not answer, that she was too wary of him. But after what felt like an eternity of silence, she looked around to make sure no one would hear her speak before she said, "…I… don't remember…"

"You don't?" Good, at least he had made contact. It meant he was getting somewhere. "Why not?"

"He…took that… too," she replied, her voice as soft as the crackling of autumn leaves under foot, and just as dry. Tsuzuki automatically understood that she referred to Muraki.

"I'm sorry…" he murmured sympathetically. He understood their pain completely, and he felt only regret for the unfortunate thing before him, for all of them.

She eyed him pensively, as if confused by the prospect that he felt pity for her. "We… only keep you… here so he can't… have you," she said almost defensively, trying to justify their holding him captive.

Tsuzuki nodded. "I know. I understand that, but I need _you_ to understand… My friend, Hisoka, he's very important to me. He needs me. I only want to help him. If I don't, Muraki may do the same thing to him what he did to you… Can you understand that?"

His words were getting through, he could tell by the way her hands ceased their meddling. He continued, "Please. I need your help."

She looked severely troubled, even though the skin of her face was shriveled and stretched over the bone of her skull and betrayed little emotional expression.

"I can't…" she started, shaking her head from side to side with an audible creak.

"Yes you can," Tsuzuki pressed gently. "It will be alright."

"…But the… others…"

"They won't know. I promise," he reassured her.

"What could I… possibly do…?" She asked in exasperation.

"I just need a heat source, a flame," Tsuzuki replied, his mind already reeling with what he planned to do. "I have a lighter in my coat pocket. I only need you to use it."

She seemed even more puzzled than before, but she noted the desperate expression on the man's face and her resolve melted.

"A…lighter?" She asked, her gaunt shoulders slumping in surrender.

"Yes, in my left coat pocket," Tsuzuki instructed, his voice low so the other haunts would not be able to hear.

The girl glanced about once more to make sure none of her allies would notice, and she slowly, achingly, leaned forward, reaching out her hand towards his side. Her thin fingers slipped into his pocket, lingered there for a short moment, and then came back out lightly clutching the small metal lighter.

"…This…?" she asked, looking at the thing in her withered hand.

"That's it. Now, in a moment I want you to open it and push down the switch. Before you do it, I want you to know that whatever happens afterward, I promise not to harm you or any of the others. I need you to trust me," Tsuzuki said, forcing his voice to be level even though his heart was pounding like mad with anticipation. "I promise, nothing bad will come to you."

She had already flipped the top of the lighter open and was examining it, wondering how such a thing could possibly help the chained man before her, but she nodded to show she acknowledged what he had said. Her gaze lingered on him for a short moment as her thumb lightly came to rest over the switch, a silent question in her eyes. Tsuzuki gave her the barest nod of his head, his amethyst eyes meeting hers for a consoling second of time…

Then she pushed down, and the sound of roaring flames filled the warehouse.


	8. Ch 8: By Fire

Author's Comments: Here is latest chapter. Once again, it is quite short, but I have it written the way I wanted it to be. Unfortunately, the way I wanted it wasn't as long as I had initially thought. But the next chapter will be along shortly, so enjoy chapter eight. ~Maggie

**Chapter Eight: By Fire**

The small flickering flame of the lighter erupted into a mass of heat, the column spiraling upward to rupture against the high ceiling of the warehouse. The fire spread, coating the roof in a blanket and looping its way down the metal links of chain that tethered the powerful Shinigami. The chain heated, hissing, burning fiery red and glowing like the eyes of the Devil himself. The emaciated girl holding the source of the carnage gave a raspy shriek, dropping the lighter to the floor reflexively. No fire caught her, though it seemed to swallow every other material that could burn, nor did it latch on to any of the other mummified creatures that were scattered throughout the vast room. They gave cries much like the first, backing away in fear, their skeletal hands out before them to protect themselves. Tsuzuki fed the fire with his will, calling on the powers of Suzaku through the lighter. If he could not summon his Shikigami to give him strength, he would find his own way to achieve it.

The chains burned, the metal becoming so hot that a few of the links began to sag apart, melting. That same heat seared into the flesh of Tsuzuki's arms through his coat, though he felt little of it and he gave a shout, rearing his head back as he wrenched his bound limbs apart. Flaming bits of metal flew in all direction, scattering across the floor and raining down from the ceiling.

"He's escaping!" One of the gaunt creatures shrieked. "He's getting away!"

There wasn't much they could do, for Tsuzuki was already loose, and they refused to get closer to him, fearing that the fire would burn their desiccated flesh. That haunts would fear flames was laughable, and Tsuzuki noted this whimsically to himself. A searing heat wave had formed, a combination of black smoke and roasting air filling the warehouse, and the man decided it was time to set it free into the outside, along with himself. Tsuzuki pushed the heat harder, and the roof moaned in surrender as it began to collapse under the pressure. It concaved, spilling inward in a shower of burning debris, and the night sky gaped from the hole. Sweltering air rushed to escape from the opening, pouring out into the coolness of the dark above. Tsuzuki crouched, bending low on his knees, hesitating only to snatch up Hisoka's jacket button from the floor beside him, then fully extended his legs in one boundless leap. He soared up and up, through the smoke and ash and smoldering roof, breaking into the outside. His trench coat billowed aimlessly around him, giving him extra lift like a pair of ebony wings.

The moment he was out of the warehouse, the raging fire below him suddenly smoldered out, as if a powerful rush of wind had killed the flames in one precarious swipe. Only glowing embers remained, along with the stunned corpses that occupied the warehouse. They stood, staring up at him through hollowed sockets, their mouths agape. Tsuzuki took the time to pick out the girl who had helped him, and gave her silent thanks. He had kept his promise to her, and none of her affiliates had been harmed. They were dazed, but not injured in the least. He had made many promises he had not kept, but this one had been easy to fulfill. However, there was one broken promise in dire need of repair. His pledge to protect his partner had fallen, and Hisoka needed him. Tsuzuki swore to himself, with the bitterness of a thousand years of incessant guilt, that he would find the boy, and kill the bastard who had taken him.

Tsuzuki was a forgiving man. He was not selfish, and he felt no desire to hold a grudge towards anyone, nor wish death on them. But what Muraki had done now was unforgivable.

It would not be tolerated.

Tsuzuki hovered above the warehouse for a few seconds more, and then he was off through the cold air. All was dark, not even the moonlight penetrating the veil of shadow that shrouded him, and Tsuzuki was one with the black. He maneuvered through the sky easily, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with the fervent deftness of an apparition in flight. It was a late hour, and only the cars on the streets showcased movement. The houses were still. Such a thing was uncommon for a normally busy part of the city, but even the night seemed to be on Tsuzuki's side, shielding him from the common eye. Not that he would have been seen anyway, unless he wanted to be.

Tsuzuki hadn't the first clue about where Muraki would have taken Hisoka. Some sort of hint, no matter how small, would have been appreciated. But there was nothing except for the victims of the mad doctor that lingered in the warehouse, not dead, but not living either. They would have been of little help, and Tsuzuki doubted they would have told him anything even if they did know some information. They had held him prisoner in an attempt to keep him from Muraki. But they could not keep him from Hisoka.

The best idea was to search the area Hisoka had staked out on their mission. It was a place to start, at least, and it was all Tsuzuki had, except for the small gold button he held tightly clenched in his hand. The metal was cold in his hand, but it held the comforting warmth of Hisoka's touch at the same time. Tsuzuki couldn't explain it in words, for it was something that no single word, let alone several, could justly define.

"Hisoka…" he murmured, forming nothing more than a wisp of foggy breath in the cold air. But it was a contract. It was a vow. And he would see it done, no matter what the costs.


	9. Ch 9: Incarcerated

**Author's Notes: **Once again, I am terribly sorry for the long wait! I had to get a new laptop since my old one decided to die on me. This was a painful and tedious process, but I finally got a lovely new laptop at a graduation/birthday present from my parents. I love you mom and dad! So I got to work right away on the next chapter of Precious, and here is is! Comments make me work faster, come on, bribe me.

**Chapter Nine: Incarcerated**

Hisoka's flesh ached. The small cuts scattered across his pale skin flared in stinging pulses, sending his mind into a feverish heat that seemed to just swallow him whole. His right wrist throbbed as well, was partially swollen, purple, and absolutely agonizing. And he itched. The festering slits were maddening, each about the size of a large paper-cut. They stung ferociously and itched to the point where Hisoka wanted rip himself right out of his skin before he went utterly insane. He was quite certain there were still glass bits inside many of the wounds, but he had already become so immensely frustrated with trying to pick out each micro -practically invisible- fragments of broken figurine from the cuts. It was impossible and he realized it as he picked and scraped for nearly an hour and only found three of the hundreds of wince-inducing shards. Needless to say, he gave up and allowed himself to just wallow in his aching misery.

He had nearly forgotten just how painful pain really was; being a Shinigami, he still felt it, but the wounds healed so much faster and with such little effort. Without his powers, he was forced to suffer the everyday agonies that regular mortals did. He hated it. And it wasn't just the cuts. Every injury he had encountered in the past few days had built up and up until every joint, every nook and cranny in his body writhed with pain. And for what? All his attempts at escape had achieved him nothing but ache and frustration. Not to mention a migraine that was rendering him completely immobile. And he was back in his 'room' again, his cell, where the furnishings constantly reminded him of the mangled, violent fate of its previous owner. Veren had deposited him off there after throwing him around a bit and tarnishing his already battered ego, and _body_, for that matter. There was no one that made his blood come aflame and his hatred roar as much as Kazutaka Muraki did, but Veren certainly pissed the hell out of him. He was already deciding all the nasty things he would do to the bastard once he had his Shinigami powers back as he tried to situate himself in a position on the floor that didn't cause him even more discomfort. It was impossible, just like removing the glass had been.

He put a blood smeared hand to his head, which was burning up and pounding, drowning out most rational thought and continuously thwarting his attempts to come up with another plan. He was beginning to come to the dreaded conclusion that there was no way to make it out of the house, especially not when he so injured. At a loss, he slowly rolled onto his side, wincing and gritting his teeth as he did so, allowing his head to rest at a bit of a strained angle on the carpeted floor. Despite his hurt, Hisoka found his mind still trying to seek out the one person he desperately wanted to see. He prayed to a God he wasn't even sure was there. He prayed that Tsuzuki was safe, that the man had gathered the rest of their division and was looking for him.

_Please…_ He begged inwardly. _Please, God, at least let __**him **__be alright…_

He was spiraling. The room felt like it was spinning in circles, sinking down farther and farther into the depths of his quickly faltering vision. He was getting sick… He wanted to get off the ride. He closed his eyes, trying to shield himself from the nauseating dips the world was taking. The black crowded in all around him, stifling and suffocating, and he realized that he was going to pass out. His last conscious thought was Tsuzuki, so close, but so very far away, grinning like an idiot in the sunlight after a day of paperwork at the office- _all of which Hisoka had done since Tsuzuki had spent the whole time taking a nap _- and asking for a stop by the sweets shop. Hisoka had initially told him no; he had been annoyed and aggravated at Tsuzuki's lack of work, refused to award him for it, and had coldly informed the man so. But afterwards, due to Watari's gentle hint-dropping, he had discovered that his partner had stayed out the whole previous night trying to find the apartment key Hisoka had lost on his way into the bureau the morning before.

If he could somehow go back to that moment, rewind time to relive that scene, he would have taken Tsuzuki to the sweets shop. He would have taken him, and he would have bought him whatever the hell he had wanted. But he hadn't, and going back wasn't an option, and he was sorry for it. There he was, laying on the floor in a house full or murderers, and he felt guilty about not buying Tsuzuki a donut or a crepe. It was strange how emotions went, but Hisoka was not able to notice as his mind shut itself down and he was cut off from the conscious world…

There was a buzzing sound. An annoying, mumbling hum that seemed to increasingly get stronger and stronger. It pulled at Hisoka's sleeping mind, nudging him drudgingly back into a state of wakefulness. He didn't know how long he had been passed out for, nor did he care. All he could focus on was the grating sound pervading his peace. He had finally escaped the pains and aches of his physical body and he was being dragged back to suffer them again. He fought it, but his attempts were feeble and useless. The sound continued to grow in strength to a volume where he could feel it reverberating into his bones and it was going to drive him mad. It took him a few minutes to come to an understanding, for his head was terribly fogged and complete consciousness was off in the distance, dancing away from him. But he soon realized, after the mist had receded slightly, that the sound was waves of thought. His Shinigami prowess may have been gone, but his curse of empathy still remained, and it was picking up the vibrations of someone's mental flow. There was a presence there.

The effort of opening his eyes was great; it took him a lot longer than he would have liked it to. The world slowly swam back into focus but remained fuzzy around the edges like an old black and white film, and with his sight came the familiar agony of his throbbing limbs and smoldering cuts. He grimaced unconsciously, biting back the foul words he wanted to release. The incessant humming was only adding fuel to his bitter mood. He swiveled his head about to get a better understanding of where the thoughts were coming from, and they seemed to be strongest in volume from the far wall on the other side of the bed. At least, that was what he could gather from his position on the floor. If he wanted to know for certain, he would have to move. He was severely reluctant to do so, but his annoyance at the constant stream of emotions managed to get the better of him.

Hisoka managed to get an elbow under himself and tried to force his body up, willing his shaking limbs to cooperate with him. He was aching now more than ever, and his arms and legs felt like they were not even attached to his body at all; they were their own entities, and they seemed to have decided that they would move when they wanted to.

_Come on… _Hisoka urged himself inwardly. _Move, body…!_

It was a slow, agonizing process, but he finally managed to get into a sitting position. He found he could work with himself from there by using his arms to scoot along the floor. The carpet scraped at his sensitive flesh, but he felt little of it since the pain had already made its permanent home in his body, and he slowly reached the far wall. The maddening buzzing flared into life from his new location, and his first instinct was to bring his hands up to his ears to block out the sound. Yet as he did so, he already knew it would not hinder the noise, which was streaming in through his head, not his ear canal. With such ferocious volume, the person had to be directly on the other side of the wall. Hisoka could feel every sensation of his own from the stranger; the cold touch of a head leaning against the hard wall, the mindless inner babblings of someone not in their right mind. But what he could sense the most was the overwhelming fear. The sheer terror poured through the paint and plaster and wood until it slipped stealthily into Hisoka's veins like poison. He started shaking, and suddenly the temperature of the room seemed to drop down to zero degrees. Through the cold, a soft voice pervaded the painful humming and waves of horror.

"_Help me, God… Help me… Don't let him get me. Save me, someone save me. I don't want to die, oh God, I don't want to die…"_

The timbre was that of a young woman, but the state of words belonged to a frightened, hysteric child that hid in the closet when the beasties crawled out from under the bed. Hisoka understood that she did not belong in this house, and that she had probably been stolen away by Muraki like he himself had been. She may have been one of the missing girls that he and Tsuzuki had set out to find. Was she the only one, or were there more on the property? He hadn't noticed any other presences beside the mad doctor and Veren, but the girls may have been held in a different location, one on the grounds where his empathy could not hound out. The only way to know was to speak with the one on the other side.

Hisoka swallowed, his mouth dry and his breath hitched from the girl's fear pervading his senses, but he managed to get out a single word.

"Hello…?"

He hadn't thought of anything else to say to catch the girl's attention, so the singular, questioning greeting would have to do.

Almost immediately, the stream of thoughts came to a lurching halt and Hisoka felt a shuddering heartbeat that was quickly caught inside a ribcage. There was a long pause of silence, then gradually the humming began again, only at a fiercer and more panicked pace. Worried she would cut herself off from him, Hisoka tried again.

"Listen…! It's okay, I won't hurt you. My name is Hisoka." He wished he had the reasoning and calming abilities that Tsuzuki had on people, but his rushed introduction was the best he could do. He had learned one good tip from his partner on dealing with emotional humans, and that was to give his name. Tsuzuki always gave his name when trying to speak with a sobbing or screaming person. It usually seemed to work, though Hisoka could not say why. Not a lot of what his partner did made sense. He just had to trust the elder Shinigami's judgments, as frightening an aspect as that was.

His thoughts were pulled from Tsuzuki as a faint voice came drifting through from the other side. It was soft and almost inaudible, so Hisoka had to put his ear against the wall to hear.

"Were… were you brought here, too…?" The hopefulness at finding a common denominator in her chaotic world was obvious in her tone. Hisoka knew exactly how she felt, and it was from experience, not empathy.

"Yes. Muraki brought me here. What's your name?" That was another thing Tsuzuki did; he stated his own name and asked for their's.

"Erika…" She sounded a bit reluctant to give it to him, but she did.

"Erika, are there others?"

She hesitated a long time to reply like she had when he had asked for her name. "T-there are a few more girls… he kept us in a shed in the backyard…Then he brought me in here…"

"How many girls?" Hisoka was quick to question, but he held himself back a little so he would not startle her.

"I don't know… there were more of us… but it was dark in there. M-maybe five others…?"

"What do you mean there were more of you?" She was confusing him and he was desperately trying to fit the pieces together with an already foggy head. Before she had said there were a few others. A few usually meant two or three, not five.

Another long pause, then, "Every few days, the door opened and he took one… took a girl…But then he closed the door and locked us back in again…" Her voice rose and sobs wracked her throat. "Oh, God, we could hear them screaming! We could hear them screaming and screaming as he dragged them off! Oh, God, please…I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" She broke down wailing, fear and misery climbing back through the wall to claw at Hisoka, and he quickly pulled his ear away from the plaster.

"Erika! Erika, listen…!" he tried again, but she would not answer. After a long period of struggling to calm and communicate with Erika, he ended up with no results. Now Hisoka was alone in the room again with a hysteric girl next door, and he had more questions than answers to mull over after a somewhat uneventful chat.

And not to mention his cuts still itched something terrible…


	10. Ch 10: The Invitation

**Chapter Ten: The Invitation**

Tsuzuki retraced his steps carefully, circling back around several times in case he had overlooked some minor detail. At first he followed the turns he had taken when he and Hisoka had started out on their mission, then he branched out farther and farther, hoping to overlap with Hisoka's path. The Shinigami knew where they had agreed to rendezvous at, but he did not know which way his partner had gone about to meet up with him there. So he searched every possible avenue that Hisoka might have gone, the boy's coat button clenched firmly in one hand. His curled fingers were beginning to ache from being constantly pressed into his palm, and small crescent cuts were forming from his fingernails digging into his flesh, unable to heal under the pressure. He did not feel it whatsoever, nor did he notice that he was leaving a small blood trail as the crimson drops slowly dripped from his hand and pattered onto the ground. His undying concentration was solely focused on the task at hand. He did, however, feel the cell phone in his slacks pocket vibrate for about the millionth time since he had escaped the warehouse. It was Tastumi, Tsuzuki was certain of it, but he refused to pick up. Instead, he let it buzz, walking briskly down the sidewalk, head swiveling from left to right. He didn't have time to explain himself. He didn't want to be called in, like he knew the bureau would do.

'Don't worry, Tsuzuki, we'll find Hisoka, you relax at the infirmary,' or 'We don't want you on a Muraki case when he has your partner, Tsuzuki, you might act irrationally.'

Well, he certainly was going to act as irrationally as he wanted without their say-so. With his free hand, he fumbled in his pocket and turned his phone off. Tastumi could yell and scream at him after he had found Hisoka.

But the whole thing was easier said than done. He was desperately seeking and yet he wasn't finding a trace. There had to be _something_, some small sign that Hisoka had been there, some tiny clue that he had overlooked.

The sun was rising. The soft glow lit up the horizon, and it wasn't long before people left their houses and began milling about in the world of daylight. The morning was cold, a sharp breeze blowing in and inducing a winter chill, regardless of the spill of sunlight.

As Tsuzuki circled the same blocks again and again, civilians began to peer at him curiously. He could have easily hidden himself from their eyes, as most Shinigami did when in the human plain, but he didn't bother with it and he did not care if they saw him. They could stare and point all they wanted, he didn't give a damn.

He was rounding a particular corner when he had to suddenly halt and back himself up. In his passing, he had noticed something he had not seen before. He had seen the crack, certainly, but not the small hole at the center of the spider webbing. Upon closer inspection of the hole, he knew exactly what it was. After some chiseling at the crumbling brick, he found what he was looking for.

A small silver bullet glinted up at him from between his fingertips.

The chances of the bullet being meaningful were slim, it could have been embedded in the wall ages ago, but for some reason Tsuzuki was _certain_ that it was. He combed over the wall for anything else, noting that the hole had been about Hisoka's height off the ground, but noticed nothing else of imminent importance. However, there was a small ally nearby and he hurriedly went down it, knowing that it was the route his partner would have taken had he been shot at. Tsuzuki had been there before many times, but now he felt that there must have been something he had missed. He lifted up a few of the garbage cans to look underneath and even rummaged through them, ignoring the fact that his coat sleeves were getting coated in grime by doing so.

"Shit!" He muttered to himself after once again turning up nothing. All he had was a bullet and a button after hours of searching. There was a cold fury building up in his gut, an insatiable rage that moved him to kick one of the garbage cans. There was a loud clang as the metal crushed in from the impact, soaring off the floor of the ally to smash against the far wall. "Fuck!" He snarled in frustration.

"Um…"

The soft sound startled Tsuzuki and he wheeled around, wide eyed and looking livid.

A young boy stood at the end of the ally, bundled up against the cold in a scarf and hat. Beneath the thick folds of fabric covering his face, Tsuzuki could see freckles and some frizzy red hair peeking out. He couldn't have been older than twelve, Tsuzuki noticed, as the youth shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, and he instinctively knew the discomfort was because the boy had seen his previous violent display.

"Um…" the kid said again, peering at Tsuzuki nervously, but he did not add anything else and simply stood stock still, his swaying halting abruptly. There was a long pause of pregnant silence as the two stared at each other, the awkwardness thick enough to cut with a butter knife, until the boy finally reached one gloved hand into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. He hesitated for a moment longer, then held out the note for Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki stared at it incredulously, not sure if it was meant for him, but when the boy did not retract his hand and even shook the letter at him impatiently, he reached out and took it. He turned it over in his hands, looking for any words that would say what it was or who it was from, but it was blank. So he opened it, pulling out the folded slip of paper on the inside. The boy continued to watch him, as if he was also curious about what it was. On the letter were the following words:

_Dear Mr. Tsuzuki,_

_I formally invite you to join me at my new residence to view the full moon over late night tea. _

_I trust it is going to be a spectacular sight that you will not want to miss. _

_I shall be expecting you._

_Yours, Kazutaka Muraki~_

Tsuzuki's hands shook after he had finished, and it took all his might to not tear the paper to shreds right then and there in his trembling fingers. He read the note a few more times, even hearing the words on the page in Muraki's aggravatingly smooth tone, before he finally glanced up and darted his eyes around, as if expecting to see a flash of the doctor's white coat leaving the alleyway. Instead, there was only the boy, and Tsuzuki approached him. He must have appeared threatening, because the child took a few steps back as he neared, and Tsuzuki was a bit frightened to imagine what his face must have looked like at that point.

"Where did you get this?" He demanded, and he almost flinched at the sound of hardness in his own voice.

"S-some guy gave it to me…" the boy managed to stammer out, the fear evident in his eyes.

"Who?" Tsuzuki pressed relentlessly.

"I don't know…! He just gave me the note and some money and told me to give it to you." The boy had started swaying from foot to foot again, hands stuffed into his coat pockets. "I-it was a lot of money, so I figured, you know, I'd do it…"

"How did you know to give it to _me_? Did he tell you my name?" Tsuzuki inquired hastily.

"No, he just…he pointed at you…"

The Shinigami's face paled noticeably, and he suddenly lurched forward. The boy flinched, thinking the man was coming for him, but Tsuzuki simply passed him by and back out onto the street. Muraki had been watching him. He had been close enough to see him. Close enough to point him out… Tsuzuki looked at the crumpled letter in his hand, then at each person walking along the sidewalks, waiting to see Muraki's sneer on one of them. But he knew he would not see the man, knew that Muraki was already long gone and laughing at how blind Shinigami could be considering their superior senses. Muraki seemed to always be three steps ahead of everything he did.

Tsuzuki stood and watched vacantly, eyes unseeing, as the world shifted around him, trapped with the sound of Kazutaka Muraki's callous laughter echoing and reverberating around inside his head, drowning out the soft whisper of Hisoka's pleading voice from the golden button still in his hand.

**Author Notes: **It's been a while since I updated, so for the millionth time, sorry for the long wait. Hopefully I'll have time to get the next chapter out sooner. until then, cheers! -Maggie


	11. Ch 11: Blood Circle

**Chapter Eleven: Blood Circle**

Erika was screaming. Hisoka awoke from the fitful sleep he had fallen into with a sickening jolt, the sound of it echoing in his ears and his mind, penetrating deep into the very marrow of his bones. She was incoherent, but very obviously distressed.

"Erika?" Hisoka called out to her, pressing his hands to the wall, the barrier between them. "Erika, what's wrong?!" Before he could receive a reply, the door to his room slammed open and Veren stood in the doorway, his usual Cheshire grin plastered across his face. He strode in purposefully, hand reaching out to grab for Hisoka. Hisoka made to scramble away, but his body was so utterly drained that he only managed to fall sideways before Veren had a hold of him. The man wrenched him up onto his quivering legs, which immediately collapsed out from under him, but Veren hefted him up again. Hisoka grimaced at the pain, teeth clenched so hard that he thought he might break them. Erika's voice was no longer next door, but was progressing past his room and out into the hallway. Someone had her.

"Come on then," Veren said impatiently, practically dragging Hisoka from the room since he could not get his footing. "Muraki has a show for you." Hisoka could hear Erika shrieking from outside as Veren pulled him down the hall and down the stairs, not caring that the boy banged his knees on many of the steps. Hisoka had no strength to fight back, let alone to even say anything. His mouth was incredibly dry and it felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Calling out to Erika had been the last extent his voice could handle. Veren progressed through the house, eventually grabbing Hisoka by the collar of his shirt with one hand looped around his waist rather than dragging him by the wrists. In this way they made it to what Hisoka presumed was the back door. Veren let go with one hand momentarily so that he could open it, and then they were moving again.

The outside air normally would have been utterly relieving, but all Hisoka could feel resonating through his body was dread. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the beautiful flower garden Hisoka had seen from his room window, but they were not staying in the garden. Veren was headed for the darkness of the trees surrounding the property. By now, Erika's voice had faded, but Hisoka could still hear it from some distance away, seeping out past the thick pine trees. How deep did the trees go? Hisoka wondered this in a dazed state as he and Veren seemed to progress further and further into them. This wasn't just a fencelike wall of trees, this was a small wood, or possibly something larger, which Hisoka didn't really want to think about. Just how secluded was this house?

Veren was following a small trail that had been worn into the ground from often being walked. There were places where the earth had been disturbed, and Hisoka soon realized with a nasty churn in his gut that they were where Erika had clawed at the ground as she was dragged.

As they progressed through the woods, Hisoka spotted something not far off the trail. It was an old shed. The door had been chained and padlocked shut, and there was an audible whimpering of a few different voices coming from inside. There were more girls, like Erika had said. Veren didn't stop at the shed; he kept on until the sun was very nearly set. The warm glow could no longer peek over the tops of the trees, and a bitter cold had settled in with the impeding darkness. Hisoka shivered uncontrollably, feeling feverish, probably from his many cuts that had yet to see any antibiotics or bandages. Without his powers, could he die of infection? The thought had never crossed his mind before, but it did now. There were a lot of things that could kill him when he no longer had his Shinigami powers. He had hoped that once he was outside, his strength would return to him, but the seal must have expanded farther than just the walls of the house.

Just when Hisoka felt like he was going to faint again, they finally entered a clearing in the trees and the path ended. Muraki stood at the center, holding a hysterically sobbing Erika. She must have given up on screaming, or maybe her throat had gone raw, in either case, she was only able to say over and over, "Please don't kill me…! Let me go! Please don't kill me!" She spoke it like a mantra, but her pleas were trying to persuade Satan himself, and his exposed, cruel silver eye showed no merciful intent. Hisoka could only see the cold glint of a murderer there.

As Veren pulled him further into the clearing, Hisoka could see that salt had been poured in a circle around them, with many more elaborate drawings on the inside. The boy did not recognize any of them, but instinctively felt that there was something horribly sinister about the crude markings. The symbols all progressed inward to where Muraki stood, and after he was closer, Hisoka could see the stump of what must have been a very large tree at the center of the circle near Muraki's knees. The wood was stained red with sticky crimson.

"Welcome," Muraki said, extending his hand in what should have been a warm gesture to Hisoka, but it was sadistically sarcastic.

"W-what is this…?" Hisoka managed to ask, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

"This is the stage," Muraki replied. "I am the director, and here is my lovely actress." At this, he gripped Erika's long brown hair in his pale fingers and wrenched. The girl cried out, but then quickly fell to whimpers again. Hisoka hadn't seen her face before, he had only heard her voice, but now that he saw her he felt sick. She probably had been pretty before. She was young, maybe fresh into high school at the oldest. But after being in the shed for who knew how long and after crying so much, she was emaciated and pathetic looking. Her appearance only made Hisoka's heart reach painfully out to her more. Muraki tugged her hair again, and Hisoka could stand it no longer.

"Stop!" he somehow managed to shout, though his voice was strained and weak, not in the least bit commanding. Instead, it sounded like pleading. He made to pull away from Veren, but the man held him tightly.

"Go ahead and release him, Veren," Muraki said. "He will not be able to go anywhere."

Veren reluctantly loosened his grip, and as Muraki had been correct, Hisoka could not support himself and fell to his hands and knees. It was at this point that Erika seemed to notice him for the first time, and she must have recognized his voice for she cried, "Hisoka, help me! Don't let him kill me! Help me!"

Hisoka felt like going into hysterics himself after hearing her say his name with such desperation, and he forced every ounce of strength that he could muster, which wasn't much, into his limbs. He managed to momentarily get to his feet, but fell to his knees again after a few seconds. There was just nothing left in him.

"Hush, now," Muraki whispered almost lovingly to the girl, releasing his grip on her hair and gently taking her shaking hand. She gazed at him fearfully, but hope was rekindling in her that she would be spared. Hisoka wanted to scream at her, _"Get away from him! Don't trust him!" _But all that came out was, "No…!"

Muraki pulled Erika to her feet, still acting the gentleman, but as Hisoka had known he would, the man showed his true twisted nature and suddenly shoved the girl forward. She bent at the waist, sprawling over the stump with a surprised shriek. It was now that Muraki bent to grab something that had been concealed from Hisoka's view on the other side of the cut down tree. Hisoka could see that what was glinting in the remaining light was an axe. By this time Muraki had a hand pressed down on Erika's head, keeping her face against the bloody stump and muffling her renewed screams. With the other hand, he raised the axe high above his head.

"Muraki, stop!" Hisoka cried, falling forward in his attempt to move. He dug his fingers into the cold earth and forced himself back up again, his whole body shaking and straining with the effort. "_Hurry!" _his mind screamed at him. "_Hurry! Get up! Move, God damn you!"_ Miraculously, with one sudden burst of energy that came from some deep recess that he didn't know he had, he bolted to his feet and at Muraki, but he seemed to be moving in slow motion. His hands were outstretched for Muraki to shove him over, but as he grew inch by inch closer and closer, the axe came also came down inch by inch at the same time, getting ever nearer to Erika's neck. There was a split moment where Hisoka thought he was going to make it. Muraki was only a foot away, still in mid swing. Hisoka was on him, he had his hands ready to force the man over where the axe would just narrowly miss the sobbing girl on the stump. But then something had a hold of him. He was being tugged back and away from Erika's salvation. As Hisoka wheeled around for half a second's time, just long enough to see that it was Veren that had grabbed him by the back of his shirt, he heard a dull and resounding thud.

Even before he turned around, and a part of him was begging him not to but his body wouldn't listen, he knew what he would see. Muraki stood there, his white suit glowing in the newly released moonlight, the cuff of his shirt splashed with red and the axe hanging at his side, no longer needed. Erika's body was sprawled on the ground, but her head was still on the stump, her long hair covering her face and the wood soaking up the fresh blood from its latest victim. Hisoka was faintly aware that Veren was laughing callously behind him, but he couldn't hear that. Nor could he hear what Muraki was saying to him with his moving murderous lips. There was only one thing that entered Hisoka's ears. The best way he could describe it was that someone was howling, a howl soaked and dripping with anguish. It took him some time to realize that the sound was coming from him.

Hisoka hadn't known Erika. He hadn't even seen her until a few moments earlier. Yet when she had tentatively spoke to him the night before, and when she had called out for him to save her, Hisoka had seen a bit of thirteen year old self, found himself engrossed in her plight, and reached out to her as well. But he had failed her. Erika was dead, her young life stolen like Hisoka's had been by the monster named Kazutaka Muraki. Any strength he had felt moments ago now drained away as quickly as Erika's blood left her body. Hisoka doubled over, his face in his hands, and for the first time in years, he cried.


End file.
